


A Tale of a Tail

by LadyArkin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Tail Sex, Tails
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArkin/pseuds/LadyArkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a case Sherlock discovers that John has a vestigial tail. It is the most painful topic in John’s life and now the only thing that Sherlock can fixate on. More so, Sherlock discovers that he has a kink for tails. What’s John to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale of a Tail

They got kidnapped. Their kidnappers were just competent enough to make things difficult since they were searched thoroughly. Their coats were taken. They were left in little more than their trousers and the innermost shirt layer.  
They were chained up. John found himself with his arms wrapped around a concrete pillar. Handcuffs held him in place. Someone had known enough to separate and neutralize them. That was accomplished by stretching Sherlock out away from John so that Sherlock’s hand could only just reach John but not his cuffs.  
“They got my lock picks,” Sherlock hissed once their kidnappers were just out of ear shot.  
“They’re on the table,” John said looking back at the little bundle. It was just behind John on a table. His legs were just long enough. He knew that he could hook the table leg with his foot.  
“It’s heavy,” Sherlock whispered. “It’ll make too much noise.” Sherlock peeked around John. “They are neither that drunk, nor that distracted by the football game.”  
“Sherlock we’re really in trouble here.”  
“Obvious,” Sherlock said distracted, eyes scanning the area systematically.  
John pulled back extending as far as he could. He bent over pulling his ass back until he felt the edge of the table.  
“Unless you have a freakishly impressive clenching trick, I think we should try something else.”  
John stood up and moved closer to Sherlock.  
“Under normal circumstances, I’d never consider this. I expect you to be understanding, sensitive, and an adult.”  
“Really? This is the moment that you choose to lecture?”  
“Can you reach my belt? Pull my trousers and pants down. I think I can reach your lock pick set.”  
“John-  
“Trust me.”  
Sherlock didn’t argue again.  
Instead, he reached forward as John pushed his hips towards Sherlock. Sherlock reached his belt on the first try. It was unbuckled quickly. His zipper was next. Sherlock systematically pushed John’s trousers down.  
When they got just under his hips, John said, “Enough. My pants.”  
Sherlock pulled on John’s waist band exposing his slightly softened stomach and then dark blonde public curls.  
John suddenly pulled away.  
Again he stretched back extending his somewhat barred bottom towards the out of reach lock pick set.  
Sherlock opened his mouth ready to unleash a brilliant quip regarding sphincter muscles when he saw it. Sherlock was rendered speechless for the first time in memory.  
For half a moment, Sherlock thought it might be John’s penis which was unfurling out of the back of his pants. Till he saw it slide to the side and the skin flexed clearly exposing bone and muscle structure.  
John had surprising dexterity and control.  
After sliding out of his pants he extended easily landing right over the lock pick case. He effectively coiled his appendage around the lock pick and held firm.  
John turned and did his best to push his ingenious bottom back towards Sherlock. Sherlock accepted the lock pick feeling the extension of vertebrae and muscle.  
Sherlock couldn’t help but tug gently extending it fully. John quickly pulled away and curled in one move. Sherlock could see that it had been the wrong thing to do based on the look of hurt and horror on John’s face.  
Sherlock quickly dispatched with their bonds. Once free, getting away was easy.  
The police were called. Arrests were made. And through it all, John didn’t look at nor did he speak to Sherlock.  
Sherlock was busy speaking to Lestrade. He brilliantly laid out the magnitude of the case. He took pleasure in showing up all present. It was only as he finished speaking that he realized all he got for his trouble were two eye rolls and a few grumbles.  
Sherlock spun around searching for John.  
“He got tired of you showing off and walked off,” Donovan said with a smile. “It was bound to happen.”  
She walked away smugly.  
Sherlock scanned the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered . Then he looked up and down the street. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he walked away.  
Sherlock caught the first cab that he could find. He arrived impatiently at 221B Baker Street and rushed in.  
Sherlock burst into the living room demanding, “Why are you here?”  
“Didn’t feel like sitting adoringly at your feet!” John answered from the couch. He unfolded his newspaper and went back to reading.  
“I needed you there!”  
“I already know what happened,” John said from behind his paper.  
“No, you don’t,” Sherlock insisted.  
The paper came down. “You insulted Greg and his people, told them the diamonds were stolen by the husband, and then called them all idiots.” John snapped the paper back into place.  
“There was more! So much more! The details! The shoe for instance!”  
John folded the paper and threw it across the room. He got up and walked across the room.  
Sherlock wasn’t talking. That was what made him suspicious. John turned suddenly and saw Sherlock’s eyes still glued to John’s lower portion.  
John felt himself start to shake. “Stop! Staring! At! Me!”  
Sherlock met John’s eyes.  
John pointed right at Sherlock. He stabbed the air several times with his finger saying, “Never! I refuse to live like that! I’m not an experiment!”  
“Is this about your tail?”  
John screamed hard and deep pushing pain and tension out of his body with the sound. When he was done his throat was a bit raw and his head hurt a little. But, he felt better.  
John turned and went upstairs to his room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next morning was rather surreal. John came down stairs to find hot tea, toast, and jam sitting on the table.  
“Did I have either a stroke or a psychotic break after my tantrum?”  
Sherlock poured milk into their mugs saying, “I surmised that I upset you. Possibly when I grabbed your tail.”  
“I don’t want to talk about that,” John said sullenly.  
“Your tea will get cold,” Sherlock answered.  
For a span of ten seconds, John didn’t move. He only stared at the table.  
“You’ve never made breakfast. Literally, I’ve never seen you even come close.”  
“That’s not true. I take the liberty of reminding you that I put out my own breakfast a few weeks back when you were ill.”  
“Sherlock,” John huffed leaning forwards. “I watched you pull a biscuit out from between the seat cushions and you drank leftover cold tea that Mrs. Hudson brought up the previous day. That doesn’t count.”  
“It did that day.”  
“Where did this,” John said pointing at the breakfast, “Come from?”  
“Mrs. Hudson.”  
“Thank God,” John said reaching for the tea pot. “I’m sure if you ever put real effort into it you could probably surprise a lot of people in the kitchen. But right now, I just want something simple.”  
Sherlock watched John pour himself the perfect cup of tea. He took his first sip. His eyes closed and a small smile played on his lips.  
“I told her that I did something thoughtless that hurt you. I told her that I wanted to make it up.”  
John picked up a piece of toast. “If you are trying to work that topic back into the conversation, stop now. I’m not interested in discussing anything that happened in that warehouse.”  
“But this kind of thing can weigh on a person.”  
“No need. You’re forgiven. I accept your apology. Now, we need never discuss it again since it’s water under the proverbial bridge.”  
Sherlock slowly picked up the tea pot and began making a cuppa. He added just the right amount of sugar and milk. As he stirred, Sherlock said, “Why is this so difficult?”  
“This is a game is it? You don’t get to destroy my sense of inner peace just to prove that you’re smarter at mental chess.”  
Sherlock had the decently to look ashamed.  
A moment later, he said, “John-  
“No,” John turned around and left.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John was standing under the warm spray of water enjoying the feel of warmth wash away the day. There had been a lot of clients at work to deal with. Sherlock had him round the bend. John didn’t even like the idea of coming home any more. He’d almost gone to the pub with a few of the people from work. John had given it serious thought. However, the idea of a few frothy pints always ended with nightmares concerning being drugged and experimented on by his roommate. He’d been sorely tempted but forewent the idea. Normal people didn’t have to deal with his kind of problems.  
So John picked up take out. He ate fish and chips with malt vinegar and salt.  
When he was done, he made his first strategic mistake of the evening. He’d wanted a hot shower to sooth the knots of stress in his back and shoulders.  
He turned the tap and undressed while the steam built. John made sure that the door was locked. The day that he’d moved in John had insisted on changing the bathroom door’s hardware. He’d added a sliding lock while he was at it. He’d done the same to his bedroom’s door.  
He’d felt secure in their flat until that day.  
John stepped under the hot spray of water. It stung his skin as it beat down. John eased in allowing the heat to slowly saturate his body. He leaned into it. He closed his eyes and savored the heat.  
It was good enough that he’d started to let go. The tension had just started to leave him when he heard that deep baritone voice say, “I have a question?”  
John’s first instinct was to throw several punches that were caught up by the shower curtain. He effectively ripped it off the rod. The water was still running. Steam billowed everywhere. And even more horrifying, John was exposed.  
From the safety of two steps back, Sherlock simply said, “Regarding our previous conversation. I may owe you and apology. I was strategically maneuvering-  
“What!” his voice carried more so than usual. In the confined space of the shower, he practically echoed. John swallowed and made a consorted effort to calm himself. “Let me see if I understand! You’ve violated my personal privacy and the safety of my shower to apologize for violating my sense of mental well being?”  
John watched the man carefully. He felt far too naked in front of the other man. Exposed to the soul, more so than usual. It made his chest ache. John very seriously said, “Hand me a towel.”  
He was grateful that Sherlock didn’t stall. John covered himself. He pulled his tail tighter against his body, willing it to disappear between his legs. He turned the tap off.  
The towel was already wet. John stepped over the remains of the curtain.  
As he passed Sherlock, he said, “I can’t live here.”  
John cleared out as quickly as he could. He ran up to his room. He bolted the door and pushed a dresser in the way in order to attain some semblance of privacy. No matter how temporary or small. He needed it if he was going to dress.  
Baring his body was frightening enough. The idea of criminals and secret government agencies watching him were bad enough. He’d taken to dressing in his closet. The dark tint that he put on his bedroom windows wasn’t enough to give him peace of mind.  
Still, he could deal with the unknown because there was an illusion of protection. There existed no idea in his mind that he could keep Sherlock out. There were no secrets around the man. There was no reprieve his worst nightmare could easily happen…again.  
John closed the door to his closet. He was too afraid to take the towel of so he dressed with it on.  
He did his best to control his shaking hands and the irrational fear that gripped him. It took him an hour to finally calm down enough that he thought he could function. By then, he was exhausted and all he could think about was getting himself ready for bed. And so, he took his time doing it allowing the ritual to calm him.  
John was settled in bed. His pajamas were on. He had a hot cuppa on his nightstand. He had a good book ready; a military themed action thriller off the best selling list. His pillows were stacked just so. It was supposed to have been a quiet and relaxing end to a very upsetting day.  
The first time Sherlock came into his room unannounced, he had a tape measure and a caliper in his hands.  
“No,” John said calmly. “Whatever the hell it is. No. Now get out of my room. I did not invite you to enter in the first place. I must have left it open; for future notice, that does not signify an invitation.”  
“John, only 20 or so true prehensile, articulating tails have been medically documented in the last hundred and fifty years! The odds of it being prehensile let alone articulating have to be about one in a billion! Data on this phenomena-  
“Means nothing to no one. Most people have the damn things lopped off.”  
“I can’t think of a worse thing,” Sherlock gripped. “The few individuals that have something interesting to offer. But no, let’s continue to perpetuate the endless pedestrian masses.” Venomously, he hissed, “Boring copies of each other filing aimlessly one after another like lemmings.”  
John easily said, “I’m not showing it to you ever again, Sherlock. Now, get out.”  
“All I want are measurements.”  
“Good bye,” John lifted his book. “I’m trying to read. Make sure you close the door on your way out.”  
John opened his book and did his best to continue reading while focusing on ignoring Sherlock. Eventually, Sherlock got the hint and stomped out.  
John jumped out of bed and locked the door.  
Sherlock must have anticipated that move and returned with lock picks at the ready because the lock didn’t even slow him down.  
The man strolled in and began pacing as if he was the one being put out.  
“If the scientific implications mean absolutely nothing to you?”  
“They don’t,” John drawled already bored.  
“John these findings could have massive impact on my work!”  
“I doubt it.”  
“I’ve been thinking of writing a paper.”  
John snorted and reached for his tea.  
“Of course, I’ll change your name to protect your privacy. But, my findings would-  
“Be as ignored as your research on cigar ash or the ground breaking research into toe nail clippings. That one really had me on the edge of my seat.” John made sure to look Sherlock right in the eye as he said, “I’m not going to be your lab rat.”  
Sherlock sat at the end of John’s bed. His hands went immediately into prayer pose.  
John ignored him and did his best to go back to his book.  
It took a few minutes but finally, Sherlock demanded, “What if we are again placed in a situation where your unique anatomy is required? I know nothing of your abilities!”  
“When I was an intern I had this American mate who had a ridiculous thing that he used to say. I find it oddly fitting in this situation so I’m going to use it.” John cleared his throat, turned to Sherlock, and said, “The day that we need my tail to save our lives ever again you can dip me in shit, roll me in bread crumbs, and call me chicken fried.”  
“But, John-  
“I’m. Not. Participating. But, I do want to sleep. I want you to go and I need you to remember that I have a gun. If I wake up and see anyone in the dark, I’m going to shoot.”  
Sherlock stood by fidgeting for a long minute. John said nothing. He only watched.  
Finally, Sherlock slowly left. He looked back twice, but he left.  
John put the book aside. He hardly turned a page. He couldn’t think beyond the insanity of Sherlock wanting to examine the oddity at the end of his spine.  
John briefly considered actually sleeping with his gun, but he quickly decided against the temptation.  
He gave up and turned off his light hoping that things might look better in the morning.  
Later, the light turning on in his room didn’t wake him, but the displacement of additional weight on his bed did.  
“Ahh,” he groaned. “For fuck’s sake.”  
“I can’t,” Sherlock said uncomfortably. “I simply can’t.”  
With his eyes still closed, John said, “Neither can I. That’s settled. Go away.” He shoved at Sherlock with his foot.  
Of course, Sherlock didn’t move.  
“I want to examine you and can think of little else.”  
“No,” John said easily.  
“I thought about doing a cursory exam while you were asleep.”  
“No!” John growled immediately awake.  
“I thought you might feel that way.”  
“Say the words, Sherlock. I need to hear you say that you won’t do anything like that without my expressed permission.”  
Sherlock’s head and shoulders fell by inches. “I’d never do that,” he said mournfully. “Not without expressed permission.” And then, just as quickly, he added, “Please, John! Please! I detest obsessive thought! It’s like being stuck in an infinite loop! It’s distracting and eventually painful!”  
Sherlock was red faced and there were tears in his eyes.  
“Can’t you delete-  
“Delete! The most interesting and amazing thing I’ve seen in years!” he said fiercely. “Never!”  
John sighed. He threw his arm over his eyes.  
“I’m not asking for much.”  
“Good. ‘Cause you’re not getting much of anything at all. Nothing as a matter of fact.”  
Sherlock stomped his foot, clenching his fists, as he demanded, “Be reasonable! I only want to brief exam!”  
John sat up just enough so he could roll over onto his elbow. “I need to get some sleep tonight. This is the _only_ reason. Let me emphasize that point, this is the _only_ reason that I’m willing to compromise.”  
“I’ll be quick.”  
“No. You’ll look in that drawer, bottom right.”  
Sherlock hesitantly moved away from the bed. He opened the drawer that John had indicated. At the bottom of a mass of socks, Sherlock found a large brown envelope. He knew what it was before he pulled it out.”  
“X-rays?”  
“You can borrow them on the condition that you piss off and let me sleep.”  
“John-  
“Then put them back!”  
Sherlock pulled the big envelope to himself and ran.  
John exhaled.  
He trudged out of bed. He didn’t bother with the lock. It might as well have been gum for all its effectiveness. He turned his lights off and did his best to get back to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next day, John didn’t see Sherlock when he came out of his rooms. John went through his usual routine: breakfast, paper, and blogging.  
Sherlock made no appearance. It was not unusual. John thought nothing of it.  
He went out later that morning. He had to make an appointment at the Veteran’s Affairs Office to straighten out a clerical mistake. Then, he had to stop by Tesco so he could pick up a few odds and ends.  
It had been ages since he’d had a nice fish chowder. He wanted to put crackers and bread on the table. Sherlock would want to eat his soup with bacon butties. That meant he’d also need brown sauce on his list of groceries.  
The trip to the store was uneventful.  
John carried his groceries home.  
He didn’t think anything of it when he arrived home to a seemingly empty flat. Instead of suspicion, John cleared the parts of the kitchen that he’d need and he started cooking.  
With a big pot of fish chowder simmering gently, he turned off the heat and put the lid on.  
John cleaned up quickly.  
When he looked up, he realized how late it had gotten. Still no Sherlock in sight. On a lark, John picked his phone and dialed Sherlock to see where he was and if he’d make it to dinner.  
First he heard his mobile ring then he faintly heard Sherlock’s ring tone. He followed it, first to the living room and then to Sherlock’s bedroom door.  
John knocked. When he didn’t hear an answer, so he went in.  
The chair that Sherlock used as a cloths rack was pulled up to the window. Sherlock was sitting there utterly captivated. John’s x-rays were taped up to the window glass. What took John a minute to process was what Sherlock was doing. His trousers were opened and pulled down. John could see the reddish tint of the man’s cock head peaking out over his slow moving fist.  
Utterly flabbergasted, John breathlessly asked, “What the hell are you doing?”  
Sherlock turned in John’s direction. It looked as if he was having trouble concentrating enough to follow the conversation. He was sweaty. His eyes were glazed and a little sleepy.  
Indignant, John shouted, “Stop wanking this instant!”  
Sherlock’s hand stopped moving but he didn’t remove it. He continued to stare blankly at John.  
“I don’t fucking believe this!”  
With that John stepped out of Sherlock’s room and out of the flat.  
John was out on the street before he knew what was happening. He was breathing hard. He found that his hands were shaking when he reached for his phone.  
At first he wasn’t sure who to call. In the end, he rang Greg.  
“Yeah.”  
“The King’s Head. Meet me there now!”  
“What? John I only just got off duty, mate. Can it wait?”  
“No! No, it can’t wait!”  
“Is everything alright? What did he do now?”  
“I can’t! I can’t! I actually can’t say it!” John breathed in and out a few times. When he was able, he said, “I need liquor. Please come.”  
John didn’t wait for a response. He ended the call and started walking. He kept walking until he realized that he’d walked right passed the King’s Head. John hung his head and back tracked.  
When he finally pushed the door into the pub he felt much lighter. Just the promise of alcohol made him feel better.  
First, he ordered a beer. He immediately regretted it. So, he ordered a double shot of whiskey. That, he didn’t regret. The first two burned going down. By the time he got the third one, he knew that he should slow down. But his hands weren’t shaking any more and he felt more calm.  
A hand on his shoulder roused him from the shot he’d been nursing. John perked up enough to see Lestrade sit next to him.  
John pushed the untouched beer he’d ordered over to the man.  
“What was it? Human skin in the sink? Tongues connected to electrodes dancing on the counter? Again?”  
John realized that he’d have to speak.  
He picked his shot glass up and drank two finger’s worth. His eyes watered a little.  
John sniffed hard. “There’s something you don’t know, mate. I need it kept between us. As you can imagine, I don’t like to talk about it…at all.”  
“Okay,” Greg said seriously. He picked up his glass, drank, and waited.  
“I…” John lowered his voice. “I have a tail.”  
Greg laughed.  
John’s face went tight. His eyes dark.  
Greg stopped. “You’re not taking the piss?”  
“When we were taken hostage by those drug dealers, I had to use it. It’s articulated and prehensile, not just vestigial.”  
Greg looked lost.  
John sighed. “It’s like a finger. I can move it and grab things. Sherlock saw it. He hasn’t left me alone since. Finally, I gave him some old x-rays just to he’d piss off.”  
“Did he?”  
John looked away. “Didn’t know why he was being so quiet, till I walked into his room. Found him wanking to my x-rays.”  
Greg spit up beer and started coughing hard. John had to pat the man on the back for a while.  
John slowly finished his whiskey. While Greg sat quietly.  
Finally, the Detective Inspector turned back to John. “Okay, I’m ready to discuss this. I need to ask you a really important question. How do you feel about this?”  
John quickly insisted, “I’m not gay.”  
“Yeah, I set that to music at this point. But I’m not asking you what your sexual identity is, I’m just asking how you feel about this situation?”  
“Like I’m sorry that I didn’t snatch my sticky x-rays away from him before I left!” John realized that he was getting loud and made an effort to lower his voice. “He’s still sitting in there you know. With his business hanging out. Hard at work.”  
“Are you sure that he’s…  
“Yes, of course I am! You really think that at my age I don’t know what masturbation looks like. He’d probably been there all night and day. He didn’t even understand what I was saying.”  
“I remember those days, I was 16.”  
John snorted.  
“So how do you feel about it?”  
John shook his head. He lifted his hand catching the bartender’s attention. “Another one.”  
“John?”  
“Greg, I just found out that my room mate has a sexual attraction to what I consider to be the most disgusting thing in creation. How am I supposed to feel?”  
“I don’t know, mate. This is a new one on me.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Despite the fact that he had been tired when he got to the pub. Greg took John home to 221B. John could hardly walk. He leaned and wavered a great deal. Greg got him up the stairs by practically carrying him.  
“You sure you want to stay here tonight?” Greg asked at the door.  
“I made him promise,” John slurred.  
“What ever that means,” Greg replied. He opened the door with John’s keys and took them inside. He walked John in and up to his room. Greg deposited John so he could work John’s coat off.  
Next he worked off John’s shoes.  
Greg reached for John’s belt.  
“No,” John cried out.  
“Calm down, mate. I’m just trying to make you comfortable.”  
“It’s not my fault I have a tail,” John sobbed.  
“It’s okay. No one blames you.”  
Greg reached for a blanket and tucked John in before leaving.  
Greg couldn’t help stopping in the kitchen for a moment. It looked like a disaster had struck. The sink was piled with dishes. Empty containers, take-a-ways, biscuit cartons. Sherlock’s area looked even more a mess than usual. It looked like the boys hadn’t bothered to clean in a week.  
He shook his head and left.  
He wanted to rest but he knew that he still had miles to go.  
Greg stopped outside of 221B so he could send a text. He had no idea if Mycroft Holmes would be near his phone, but he knew the assistant would be. Anyone that clung onto a phone that long and that often didn’t let go for long.  
Greg wasn’t disappointed either. Her reply said, “State the nature of the situation.”  
Greg texted back, “Need to see your boss. A.S.A.P. Big trouble brewing with Johnlock. Could pose sobriety issue.”  
Greg got into his car and started driving towards Mycroft’s office. Not the daytime office where he pretended to work for the Transportation Department. The other one. During the day it was usually rather shadowy and made his skin crawl. The night did nothing to improve matters.  
The moment he turned onto the block, Greg felt that he was being watched. Always did.  
The building actually had no discernable front door as far as Greg could tell. There was only the garage entrance. It was easily missed. There were no signs. The only real light was on the call box with no number, no buttons, no nothing. Just a grey, metallic face with a little camera lens pointing at him.  
Greg pulled up. Before he could announce himself, the heavy chain link curtain shielding the small garage entrance began to move.  
Greg looked into the lens and said, “Ta.”  
He drove in.  
As usual he parked in the same nameless, faceless parking spot by the elevator.  
The elevator arrived on its own. It had to since there were no call buttons. He stepped in. There were no buttons inside either. It was whomever was on the other side of that camera that took him on the ride. It was always down. He just had no idea how far down.  
The elevator always stopped at the same place for him, a short hallway outside of his office. He stepped out and he heard the usual click clunck of a mechanism turning. He knew that the office door was now open. He still stopped to knock.  
“Come,” he heard the man inside call out.  
Greg walked in.  
As usual, Mr. Holmes was busy. Normally, Greg stood and gave his report with was being heard with one ear while the rest of the man’s intelligence worked on however many problems at hand.  
This time Greg sat without saying a word.  
The man’s attention was on him immediately. That dark auburn eyebrow went up quizzically.  
“We have a problem,” Greg said simply.  
“Really? And what problem do ‘we’ have?”  
“Do you have eyes on Sherlock?”  
“Of course.”  
Greg checked his watch.  
“Check out what he was doing three hours and forty five minutes ago.”  
For a long moment, Mycroft did nothing. He only watched Greg.  
Finally, the man began utilizing his computer.  
Greg watched Mycroft Holmes and he was able to tell the exact moment when he tuned into the Sherlock Porn Network. Greg saw him bat at his keyboard a few times before pushing away a bit.  
“Need a drink?”  
Mycroft didn’t answer.  
“John Watson had eight double whisky’s before the world started to make sense to him again.”  
“Where those x-rays?” Mycroft asked a bit lost.  
“I wouldn’t have come here if it was just a matter of Sherlock discovering his penis. This situation is not ideal because it’s a matter of John’s unique anatomy being a sexual stimulant for Sherlock.”  
“Unique anatomy?”  
“I promised him that I wouldn’t gossip.”  
“Has he a fifteen inch penis?”  
Greg tilted his head as stared at the man.  
“You’re right. Forgive me. It’s the shock talking. That wouldn’t turn my brother’s head. At least unless he’s was conducting some kind of experiment.”  
Greg stated flatly, “We have until John wakes up to do something.”  
“His anatomy would have to have some bone structure to show up on an x-ray. He either has, extra appendages, wings, or a tail,” Mycroft stated factually. Mycroft turned to Greg and said, “It looks as if he’s eaten everything in the their flat.”  
With a shrug Greg said, “Don’t most blokes get sleepy and hungry after a good tumble? From the sounds of it, he was at it for hours.”  
Mycroft wiped his hand across his mouth. “And the doctor?”  
“I asked John how he felt about this development. He didn’t answer, aside from saying that he isn’t gay for the millionth time since I’ve known him.”  
Wearily, Mycroft asked, “Will he leave?”  
“I think that depends on what happens when they wake up. That means they have to work it out like adults.”  
“I can see why you were concerned.”  
“I was thinking about smoothing things over a bit. Maybe cleaning up the kitchen before John sees it. Or, doing some shopping. I would, but I have to be in at work early tomorrow.”  
“And you think that would work?”  
“I think that will reduce the amount of anger that John will have when he wakes up with a hangover. On top of being inconsiderate, you brother’s using him to fuel his masturbatory fantasy. I don’t think there’s a way to humanly stop the impending argument.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John woke up the next morning to pain in his head and a queasy stomach. He was distracted by the hangover, such that it took him a few moments to realize that someone had pulled his curtains shut.  
John struggled to sit up. To his utter surprise he found a tall glass of water and two percetamol on his night stand. He took the pills and savored the water. He sipped steadily until it was gone and his body felt better from the alcohol induced dehydration.  
When he was better, John got up. His bladder was full. He walked quickly towards the bathroom. On his way there he heard two people talking but didn’t recognize the voices. He relieved himself quickly.  
He walked out soon enough to find several large and full trash bags sitting on the living room floor. The flat smelled like sausages, eggs, and toast.  
A man walked out of the kitchen wearing a full suit. “You must be Doctor Watson. Good Morning. Would you like some tea? I made breakfast, but if you can’t handle it, there is toast.”  
“Who are you?”  
The man carefully said, “My apologies, Doctor Watson. My name is Wilfred. I’m Mr. Holmes’ butler. He asked me to make sure that your area was tidied a bit, the shopping done, and breakfast made.”  
“I’m really hung over, but even I can see him meddling here.”  
“Does that mean you won’t be having breakfast?”  
A second man walked out of the kitchen and quietly left with the trash bags.  
“Of course I want breakfast. I’m weary and hung over, not brain damaged.” John went to the table and looked around. “There wasn’t a mess when I left yesterday. Why did you have to do the shopping? I just went.”  
“Someone must have had a party,” Wilfred said distracted as he went about his task of serving John’s breakfast.  
A shutter passed over John. He didn’t want to think why Sherlock might hungrily go through the kitchen.  
It didn’t get better in John’s head until Wilfred set a steaming pot and a cup in front of John. He happily drank his tea.  
Into his cup, John said, “For once I’m glad Mycroft spys on us.”  
Wilfred gently asked, “Would you care for food?”  
“Yes, thank you.”  
A moment later, John heard Sherlock’s door open. He cringed inwardly.  
Sherlock wandered in wearing a sheet. He sat in the chair opposite John. The man looked like he’d had a hard night.  
“Morning,” Sherlock said wearily as he watched John.  
Wilfred stepped forwards with two large platters. “Two full English breakfasts,” he announced proudly. “Eggs, sausages, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, and toast.”  
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to say, “I see getting stabbed for Mycroft’s sake didn’t soften your culinary skills, Wilfred.”  
“At your disposal, sir,” Wilfred responded. “Shall I tidy your room?”  
“If you like. Avoid the mould colonies in my ensuite, it’s an experiment,” he said picked up his knife and fork.”  
“Excuse me. Back in a minute,” John said politely.  
John pushed away from the table and started out of the kitchen when he remembered. He turned and went to the refrigerator to the HP sauce that was on the door. Sherlock took it from him with a food filled murmur before the bottle ever hit the table.  
He left Sherlock eating voraciously.  
John walked directly to Sherlock’s room. The x-rays were still on the window where John had last seen them. Wilfred was stripping the bed and picking up laundry. John didn’t want to think about all the white, crusty looking stains on just about everything.  
John took the x-rays with him and left without saying a word.  
Sherlock was watching John with big eyes the moment he emerged from his room. Sherlock’s face became pained the moment he saw the x-rays.  
John returned to the kitchen. He set the x-rays under his plate.  
“John,” Sherlock ventured unsteadily.  
“I’d like to speak first, if you don’t mind.”  
Sherlock nodded sadly.  
“There comes a point in every man’s life when he finds a sex toy that really works for him. I’m glad you found something. You’ve had a day and half to orgy. But now it’s time for reality.” Slowly, John said, “I’m not your whore, or your pin up. Find something else.”  
“John-  
“There’s no discussion, Sherlock. If you don’t leave off I will pack and find somewhere else to live.”  
Sherlock wilted.  
“This is just how it is.” John picked up his tea. “Try to eat something.”  
But neither of them did.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was no surprise that Sherlock went into a pout after their breakfast together. He took up residence on the couch, still wrapped in his white sheet. For the longest time, he hardly moved.  
John went about a normal Sunday. He read the paper ignoring the body on the couch. Lunch consisted of the breakfast that he hadn’t eaten. After, he sat down and he did some serious writing on his blog.  
Their latest case was difficult to navigate. Writing about using his tail to reach the lock picks was out of the question, so John got creative. He wrote that he reached it by removing his shoe and used his toes to nudge the little pick case closer. It wasn’t far fetched. Even better, it worked seamlessly in the narrative.  
John felt better when he was done. He really felt more intact.  
He felt so much better that he decided to cook. Wilfred had done a good job buying a nice variety of groceries. He seemed to be familiar with Sherlock’s preferences.  
After a quick look, John decided to make a nice big pasta dish. The remains of Sherlock’s breakfast was still just sitting in the refrigerator and he hated to see it go to waste. John chopped up the sausages, mushrooms, and tomatoes for the pasta. The eggs and beans he put back in a small container for later.  
John spent some time making as flavorful a sauce as he could. Once finished, the rest of the dish was easy. When the food was ready, he ate quietly. Then, he cleaned up.  
John wandered back to the living room with a cup of tea. He was happy enough. Despite the rough start, he’d had a very productive day. And now, he was down to the best part of unwinding with a warm cuppa and his latest medical journal.  
Then, Sherlock rolled over and sat up. “I don’t say this lightly. We should get married.”  
“Ah,” John huffed as he dropped his head in his hand. “Sherlock, you’re in love with you right hand.”  
“This has nothing to do-  
“It has everything to do with-  
“No! I love you!”  
“You love a fetish!”  
Sherlock stared at him.  
Almost gently, John said, “Please, stop.”  
“What do I have to do to prove myself?”  
“I don’t want you to prove yourself.” John set his medical journal down on the coffee table. He thought for a moment and then asked, “A tail is how common again?”  
“Less than .02% of the population.”  
“How many people in London?”  
“John-  
“Eight million or so?”  
“John-  
John stared back at the man sternly.  
“Roughly closer to 8.5! Yes!”  
“Then there are 170,000 sods out there. Half of them are men that’s about… 85,000. And gay men are about 10% so that means that statistically there are almost 9,000 sods out there that are both gay and hang it out there long and proud. Check the internet and find a date.”  
“John, I love you. That isn’t easy to say.”  
“I really believe that it isn’t easy to say. But, have you tired checking the internet? You’ve discovered something that you enjoy. Isn’t the appropriate scientific response to explore and test?”  
“I’d rather marry you,” Sherlock said mournfully.  
“What you need is sex with a long tailed freak. Not a sentence I ever thought I’d voice.”  
Then John got up and went to his room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John had a date with a beautiful Aussie that he met down at the pub. She had beautiful caramel tanned skin and blue eyes that stood out brilliantly against that tan. Even better she was a tiny little thing. They seemed to have a lot in common. Her being a nursing student meant that they had a common language. Her father and brother were military and she didn’t seem to mind when he talked about his service days.  
They’d been out twice. On one occasion, John had to leave early because Sherlock had a case and demanded his presence. The entire time he’d been with the man, John had the nagging feeling that Sherlock had been dragging the case out.  
John had checked with Greg. There were no cases in sight. There was milk in the refrigerator. And, Molly had reported that Sherlock has three eyes and a bag of A positive to play with.  
John went on his date.  
It wasn’t spectacular, but it was nice. They went to dinner and a movie before heading back to John’s. It was after eleven. John could only hope that Sherlock was either out or asleep.  
But of course, he really had no luck at all.  
John walked in with his girl. He was just putting his jacket up when he heard Sherlock’s slippers sliding along on the wooden floor.  
“We’re getting out of your way,” John said quickly.  
“You’re not in my way,” Sherlock answered simply. He looked John’s companion up and down.  
She held her hand out and said, “Pleased ta meet ya, Elsie.”  
“No,” Sherlock said very amused as he shook his head. “The accent’s fake. The tan is real though. You’ve recently spent time in Spain, work not holiday. You’re from the East End and trying desperately to find a better class of men.” His voice was angry when he added, “Any man by the look of you.”  
“Sherlock,” John snapped. He moved forward snagging Sherlock’s elbow and leading him away. “Let me be clear. I did not bring her here to meet you. I don’t want you chasing anyone away.”  
“She’s a blatant liar! You’re better off without that particular millstone around your neck!”  
“Stop it! I want you to stop it! You can’t drive away everyone I meet! I don’t want to live like this!”  
Sherlock turned away and stretched out on the couch. Calmly, he again said, “She’s a liar.”  
“Sherlock, sometimes people embellish.”  
Sherlock turned over away from John, and said nothing more.  
“Fine,” John turned and found his tanned little Aussie was gone. “Perfect. Thank for nothing, roomie.”  
John marched up to his room. He slammed the door behind him and dove face down onto the bed. John rolled over.  
“I’m never getting a leg over again.”  
John snapped up and went to his lap top. “Two can play at this.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John’s next date was not something that he’d ever thought he’d do. John found five big fetish centered websites. He advertised as an intelligent, loner seeking a partner with a prehensile vestigial tail. Deep down, he didn’t really imagine that anyone would respond to his advertisements. He had tried to be as honest as he could without giving Sherlock’s name away. His best friend had a proclivity for person’s with tails. He was simply trying to set him up. Without using Sherlock’s name. The last thing that he wanted was to give anyone the wrong impression. He did use words like ‘genius’ and ‘total dick’ in his description. But he also explained just how good a friend he could be, how exciting, and fun. To the right person, Sherlock Holmes would be a perfect partner.  
And so, on a perfectly ordinary Thursday night, John found himself at a local late night bakery sipping mediocre tea and sampling a biscuit.  
Mathew had sent him a picture. John recognized him the second he walked in. John got up and waved. Mathew walked over, ignored John’s outstretched hand and hugged him. John was instantly surprised. It got a little stranger when Mathew kissed his neck.  
John tired to be grown up about it. Still, he stepped away. “I bought you a tea. Didn’t know what you’d want. It’s already paid for just ask at the counter.”  
“Good one,” the man responded and went to the counter to get his drink.  
John pushed the plate of biscuits to the center of the table and waited.  
Mathew sat down with what smelled like peppermint tea. He smiled and asked, “Are you married? You don’t act…”  
“No, I’m not married. But I was serious about the advertisement. This is more a friend.”  
“Really? You’re serious? Blimey! I just thought that was a come on.”  
“Perfectly serious. He’s unconventional in everyway.” John took a sip. “My first questions to you are, how long is your tail and is it prehensile?”  
“Five inches and I don’t know what that means.”  
“It means, can you move it like finger.”  
“No. Didn’t know that could happen.”  
“It’s possible, just not common. Do you have any control?”  
“It’s just sort of there, mate.”  
“Alright. What about personality wise. Have you ever had interactions with a gifted person at a genius level?”  
“You were serious about that?”  
And so ended his expectations of Mathew.  
His next memorable date was named D.J. He had a Mohawk high lighted with platinum blonde tips.  
Again he offered the man tea and biscuits first.  
“How long is your tail and is it prehensile?”  
D.J. put his cup down and clearly informed John, “I’m not putting it up your bum.”  
“Nor would I want such a thing. I’m asking because my friends last romantic interest had a nine inch prehensile tail. That mean’s that he could-  
“I know what it means.”  
“Good. Please answer my question.”  
D.J. stretched out sloppily in his bench seat. He smiled and said, “Alright. Eleven inches, prehensile. I’m also on top. No one lifts my tail.”  
John sighed. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but this act is really getting old fast. You have a tan line on your ring finger. Although you’ve go the look going, your jeans are ironed. Your wife’s away and you’re looking for a good time, which is the opposite of what I know he wants.”  
And so ended that date.  
The next one to stand out was Simon, a college student. Right from the start, he looked promising. He seemed a bit shy and unassuming.  
“How long is your tail and is it prehensile?”  
It took him a moment of playing with his cup to quietly answer. “Four inches and I can move it a bit.”  
“Have you ever had interactions with a genius level gifted person? Maybe one with a difficult personality?”  
Simon looked up and simply said, “Me?.  
“Great,” John responded happily. “What are you studying and tell me about you?”  
Simon looked away. “Sociology and I’m kind of tired of not having someone. I’m not interested in a one off. I’m a serious person. I want something real.”  
“Good. He does too. I’m hoping that when I introduce him to the right person he’ll get that distraction. People that smart usually have a hard time keeping their minds entertained.”  
“So where’s this friend?”  
“I will be more than happy to make an introduction after I get to know you a little more. No offense, but I’ve conducted a few of these interviews and...some of these guys. I don’t want to bring a weirdo to him. You know?”  
Simon leaned in and asked, “Why a tail?”  
“I don’t know. It just does it for him”  
Simon nodded and checked his watch.  
That’s when John saw it. A brand new Breitling, kind of expensive for a student. It also made him take a second look at the man. There was nothing unusual about the clothes. But when John looked up at the glasses he noticed that they weren’t prescription.  
“Who are you really?” John asked.  
“Sorry?”  
“You’re not a college student.” John looked under the table at the man’s shoes. “Nice shoes. Nice watch. Fake glasses. Another liar.”  
John went to get up.  
“Wait! Just like that?”  
“You’re lying from the start. There’s no reason to stay.”  
“Just let me ask you a few questions.”  
John faced the man, eyes narrowed. “What are you looking for a story? Are you press? I don’t give you permission to print anything! This is all off the record!”  
And then John ran out. He didn’t stop until he was home and the door to their flat was locked behind him.  
Sherlock walked by with a steaming mug in hand. He looked John up and down. “I told you that I don’t want a date with a long tailed freak.”  
Sherlock turned and went to his chair.  
“The freak part is easy to find.” John wandered to his chair and fell in. “I don’t know how gay men do it. Most of these guys are just a bunch of liars.”  
“You’ve been deducing, haven’t you?”  
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I get it now. I think I’m really starting to understand why you have such a hard time with people.”  
“Let me guess. You failed to find me a boyfriend.”  
“They’re all liars, specializing in misrepresentation. My favorite one’s are married and looking for a leg over.”  
Sherlock smirked. “Does this mean you’ll stop this insane quest of yours?”  
“No, it does not. I think I to change my strategy.”  
“Really? You mean advertising on sites that seek to match up sadists or people who are really into amputation isn’t the answer?”  
John pushed up out of his seat. “I’ll figure it out.”  
As John wandered away, Sherlock quickly said, “That jacket looked good on you. You should wear it more often. Like later when we go out for dinner.”  
“Indian food!” John called out.  
“Chinese!  
John turned just long enough to argue, “We always get Chinese.”  
“Thai,” Sherlock countered.  
“Thirty minutes, then.” 


End file.
